


A Gambler's Ruin

by Muccamukk



Category: Band of Brothers (TV 2001)
Genre: Canon Era, First Time Bottoming, Fuckbuddies, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Power Imbalance, Rope Bondage, Sexual Roleplay, fragile masculinity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:34:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25604392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muccamukk/pseuds/Muccamukk
Summary: It started with George losing five bucks in a craps game. Where it went from there wasn't what Buck would have predicted.
Relationships: Buck Compton/George Luz
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26
Collections: Rare Male Slash Exchange 2020





	A Gambler's Ruin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ThrillingDetectiveTales](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThrillingDetectiveTales/gifts).



> Thank you to Zippitgood for 11th hour spag and encouragement.

A freshly borrowed five dollar bill folded into his back pocket, George jogged up the stairs of the 506th's HQ towards the junior officers' billets. He had every intention of finding Buck Compton among those who hadn't negotiated an English family to stay with, and no intention whatsoever of giving him the five dollars. It was good to have a contingency, though.

Butter bar lieutenants rated former servants' quarters, narrow rooms off a narrow hall at the very top of the mansion. They at least got their own rooms, as opposed to bunking in the stables like the rank and file, but the white-washed walls were thinner than George would have liked, and really he was going on a gut feeling and a hope with this whole plan. At least his intelligence was good, and Buck was there when George rapped out _shave and a haircut, two bits_ on his door.

Buck raised his eyebrows when he saw who was there, but stepped back out of the way to let George in without question. They both knew that any explanation for a T3 standing in the hall that wasn't, "I'm running a message, sir, here it is, goodbye," would only draw questions. One of the things George had always liked about Buck was that he knew how to play along.

The other thing George had always liked about Buck was that he was six-feet two hundred pounds of handsome blond in a way that only California seemed to produce. He was in his shirtsleeves, cuffs rolled up to his elbows and his suspenders hanging off his hips like handles, and the top three buttons of his blouse undone. George wanted to lick a strip up from his sternum over the hollow of his throat to his comic book worthy jawline. He was hoping he'd get to, but first he had to sell the concept.

"What can I do for you, corporal?" Buck asked evenly, but the crinkle around his eyes eased the formality of his words.

George smiled at him, and said too low to make out through those thin walls, "Well, Lieutenant, just wanted to get back to you on that five bucks I owe you from the other night."

Buck frowned, and George didn't know if that was because he was disappointed that that was all, or because the whole thing had been inappropriate. Scuttlebutt had it that Buck's craps games had gotten him in hot water from Lieutenant Winters or Lieutenant Meehan or someone.

When Buck held out his hand for the money, George kept his hands in his pockets rocking back on his heels and rolling his shoulders back in a way that he knew drew the eye to his chest and hips. Buck gratified him by looking. George said, "You see, sir, I got the five bucks, but I've been stretched pretty thin lately, and I was thinking maybe you'd take payment in kind."

Buck's lips started to shape a question, but then his eyes flicked over George's body again, and he asked, "What'd you have in mind, George?"

George took half a step in, close enough that he could put his hand on Buck's hip. Buck didn't say anything, and he didn't pull away. "Well," George said, "I asked some of the fellows what the local girls were charging for their time, and it seems like we might have to work out some kind of instalment plan."

"That so?" Buck was holding back a smile, and not doing very well at it. His mouth curled up in a flash of white teeth.

"What can you do?" George asked. "My usual prices are being ruthlessly undercut over here."

"Usual prices?" Buck started to ask, but George figured they'd more or less agreed to what was about to happen, so he planted both hands on Buck's chest and gave him a shove back towards the narrow cot under the window. Buck had to sit down fast so he didn't crack his skull on the sloping roof.

Before Buck's ass hit the bed, George's knees hit the floor. He made a show of crawling over to the bed, and Buck obligingly spread his legs. He even undid his belt and started to open his fly, which just went to show what a considerate sort of guy he was. George knelt between Buck's knees and ran his palms up the insides of his thighs. He really was made out of solid muscle. George took a moment to imagine Buck dressed in his football uniform, running across a field in the sun of his home state, the only pressure on his mind winning the big game. George had a soft spot for jocks, and a good sense as to which of them would be amenable to having their dicks sucked.

In that Buck's was already pressing against his shorts, George figured he'd guessed right again. He licked his lips, and Buck made a little whimpering sound of anticipation. George loved it when he guessed right. Later, he'd try being a tease, but for the first time, he just pulled Buck's cock out of his shorts and gave it a few short strokes of encouragement. It was just as big as George had hoped, and he rolled his shoulders again to get ready to take it all in.

Something about the practicality of that sparked a small protesting noise from Buck, but George ignored a qualm likely expressed for the sake of form, and bent to lick. He dragged the whole width of his tongue up from the root.

Buck was already breathing hard and heavy through his mouth, and his fingers clenched on his thighs, twitching like he wanted to grab George's hair and pull him down. It wouldn't be the first time, if he did, but he was a gentleman and let George take his time, moaning throatily in appreciation as George traced the tip of his tongue around the head of his dick. He was an appreciative audience, which was the kind George liked best

George shifted on his knees, widening his stance as his own dick started to get hard. A lot of guys called George easy, but he always said easy to please just meant he was happier than most more of the time, and having Buck Compton melting under his mouth was just one of life's simple pleasures.

He reached into Buck's shorts to palm his balls at the same time as he wrapped his lips around the tip of Buck's cock and started to lap at the first drops of come. He waited until Buck groaned his name before swallowing more down. Buck's hand closed over George's where it rested on his thigh, squeezing first lightly, then hard as George slid down and down. Even as his grip tightened, George could feel Buck's thigh trembling and flexing as he struggled to hold on. His breath came in jerky puffs—first held, then released in a gasp. George knew the sounds were muffled, but they still filled the tiny, stuffy room, like the only sounds in the world were the creak of the cot as Buck shifted his weight and the ragged catch of his breath. George added a slurpy pop as he pulled off Buck's cock and looked up to see how he was doing.

He had a trail of spit running down his chin, but he knew how that looked like something else, and left it where it was. Buck's face had flushed red, and his pale eyes had darkened with lust. He'd lost all his smugness and charm, and was staring down at George like he was some kind of miracle. George gave him exactly the kind of smile you gave a man when you had his balls in your hand and both of you liked it, then went back to work.

Shifting his weight again, he leaned in closer, curving his back to get the angle just right, then slid down Buck's cock until the head hit the back of his throat. George took a deep breath, only partly for effect, and kept going after that. All the hours he'd spent learning to swallow around a dick in his throat paid off with the muffled screams coming from above him. Buck's hand had left his and now covered his own mouth to stifle the cries George was wringing out of him.

This was the quicky version, too. George hadn't really shown Buck anything. He kept rolling Buck's balls in his palm and traced his forefinger over the smooth skin behind them and up towards his asshole, just to see what Buck would do. Though it was hard to tell one reaction from another, what with George's throat flexing around Buck's dick, and his head bobbing just enough to get some real sucking pressure going, and Buck moaning any time he did anything. But when George's finger found its mark, he was pretty sure Buck's voice pitched up with perfect need, and if he'd been able to speak, he’d have begged George to finger fuck him right then and there.

Instead Buck's balls drew up, and George only had a second to pull back and catch a mouthful of come instead of it shooting chokingly down his throat. He rode out Buck's jerking hips, swallowing as fast as he could, even if some dribbled down his chin making a reality of his show from earlier. When Buck seemed about done, George licked his dick clean and tucked it away, even buttoning up his fly for him, then looked up.

His eyes locked with Buck's and there was a moment's pause where the room seemed to go still, and they both stopped breathing as the understanding of what had just happened hit them.

This could be the tipping point, where some guys who thought they were normal not queers objected to having gotten off with another fellow, which could get touchy, especially with George's dick as hard as it was just then.

Buck grinned at him, teeth flashing, and laughed breathlessly. He reached down and instead of back handing George or shoving him away ruffled his hair like he was a favourite pet. "So how many more instalments are you talking about?" he asked.

George pretended to think about it. "I can't go undercutting local rates," he said seriously. "I'll be so popular I won't have time to report for duty, and won't that be a shame?"

"Can't neglect your duties," Buck agreed, but he put the emphasis on the last word, and held out his hand to pull George up next to him on the bunk at the same time. He didn't say anything as he settled George beside him, just slung an arm around his shoulder to pull him in tight and unbuttoned George's fly with deft flicks of his fingers. His big hand just about engulfed George's cock. Buck's palm was hot and a little sweaty, and the perspiration added just the right amount of slide against the roughness of Buck's callouses. His strokes came quick and sure, but more than Buck's hand on his cock, George melted into the strange intimacy of the arm around his shoulders. This was nice. Better than jerking off in the latrine after his partner sent him packing.

Buck's head tipped so that his forehead rested above George's ear. He didn't say anything, but breathed hard like he'd just come off a six mile run. His breath felt hot, even against George's flushed skin, and George wanted to turn his head for a kiss, but didn't think that was the kind of encounter they were having. Instead, he tipped his head back against the cool glass of the window behind him and let Buck pull him off. He didn't last long, coming with a groan a half dozen strokes later.

He cleaned Buck's hand with his handkerchief before it got wiped on anything (his shirt was the most usual choice, but his pants had gotten their share of come smeared on them over the years). If they did this again, especially with their clothes off, George might make a show of licking Buck's fingers clean, but that was for the full theatrical version, not the preview.

"I'd say thanks, but I know you're just trying to lower my rates." George balled the handkerchief up and tucked it away next to Perco's five dollar bill.

"George," Buck promised him, his arm still wrapped tight around George's shoulders, "I gotta say, I think you're priceless."

The affection in his voice warmed George almost more than Buck's hand on his dick had, and he made a show of ducking his head in embarrassment like a bashful girl in the pictures. "Well, gosh," he stammered in a falsetto, before hopping off the bed and tossing over his shoulder, "Catch you later, big boy," and vanishing out the door and out of regimental HQ.

It was almost lights out by the time he got back to barracks, and George fell into bed and slept like a log until reveille.

* * *

If George had known Ike was going to kick off the whole invading Europe thing as soon as he did, he'd have accelerated his "instalment plan" and got while the getting was good. As it was, they had a literal roll in a haystack, another meeting in Buck's billet, and a mutual handjob in the alley behind the pub. Then, they packed up and shipped off to some dingy, muddy field for three days before dropping out of the sky onto another dingy, muddy field, this one in the dark.

The less said about the jump the better, George thought, but he landed near enough to Perco and Lieutenant Welsh that things went okay after that, if by "okay" a man meant "terrifying."

They didn't find second platoon until D-Day plus three, when Welsh led them into a little French village that would have been picturesque if it weren't for the muddy paratroopers all over the place.

George had been scanning for Buck since he'd landed, and was striding across the square towards the flag marked out by his pale blond hair—bright even through the boot black and dirt—before his brain had even really registered what he'd seen.

"Fall out, why don't you," Welsh muttered, but George ignored him. He walked right past Buck and into a shattered storefront that was blessedly empty of people. He kept going until he found a storeroom at the back which, if it didn't have its door on the hinges, was at least dark and out of sight. He stayed where he was until he heard the crunch of jump boots on broken glass, and then Buck was right there.

George grabbed him by his suspenders, pulled him down, and kissed him on the mouth for a solid minute. It was their first kiss, and George didn't notice much about it other than that it was happening. Buck's mouth was yielding under his, and they both had three-day beards. George could taste the sting of liquor, and he pushed forward, getting drunk on the kiss even though it was just fumes.

When he pulled away, Buck chuckled and wiped his mouth. The room was too dark to pick out much of his expression, but the big hand squeezing the back of his neck gave George a pretty good idea of how welcome he was.

"What was that for?" Buck asked.

George stole another kiss before saying, "Hey, didn't I tell you we was squared up after last time?"

"George." Buck had an edge in his voice that said he was too tired for games. It was cards on the table time.

"Can't a fellow be happy to see you?" George asked, his hands were still on Buck's shoulders, clinging to his harness like they were falling.

Buck paused, giving the whole thing more consideration than it deserved. This was supposed to be simple and easy, no worry wasted. That had been before George had spent three days not knowing if Buck was alive or dead.

"Sure," Buck said finally, "It's good to see you too, Georgie." He patted George's neck then pulled away, needing to go back out and do officer stuff.

Later, George heard Buck had earned a Silver Star for an action on the first day, but Buck never said a word about it.

Later, they found a dark corner and jerked each other off, their mouths moving against each other with the same frenzy as their hands.

That was about how the rest of Normandy went, between the blinding terror of combat and the hours of tedium in waiting for more of the same. Buck never protested, but he never was the one to go looking for George either. George didn't know if that was some kind of officer thing, too, or if he just wasn't that interested.

He wanted to get back to doing more than kid's stuff like hand jobs, but George drew the line at sucking cock when no one involved had had a shower in weeks. A man had to have some standards, after all.

* * *

The return to England was welcome. Primarily because England was free of people who wanted to kill them, but secondly because of the hot showers and hot chow. As an added bonus, they all got promotions, and Buck moved out of his billet in HQ into the house of a pair of elderly spinster "sisters" that George had suspicions about. Certainly, they didn't seem to notice any oddity in George coming and going as he pleased, and at all hours, and if they weren't deaf, they were good at pretending not to hear what went on in their attic room.

All this meant that Buck didn't mind taking his clothes off, and George sure didn't mind Buck taking his clothes off, and the whole thing proceeded nicely from there.

Winters gave the combat vets, officers included, the first week off, and George spent a sunny July afternoon finding out how many times he could get Buck off in a row, and how long he could draw things out. He'd been getting bolder with his wandering hands since that first morning. Now, Buck was sprawled on his bed, laughingly protesting that he was worn out, and George couldn't possibly get anything more out of him and needed to give a guy a break.

George wasn't saying anything on account of having Buck's cock in his mouth, but he knew a challenge when one was thrown down at his feet. He started to suck gently again, moving his tongue lightly and humming a bit of Sinatra's latest. Buck twitched, his body sensitive and ringing with so much pleasure it had to be close to hurting. At the same time, George slicked a finger with spit and circled it around Buck's hole.

"Oh, Jesus," Buck muttered and dug his heels into the mattress so he could spread his legs and lift his hips, giving George more room to work. George didn't know if Buck knew what he was doing, or if his body was moving purely on instinct. That was fine; George was too.

He pushed the tip of his finger into Buck's ass, and played at the edge of his hole, smiling around Buck's dick as it started to harden again.

"George," Buck moaned, and maybe it was meant to be a warning of some kind, but George took it as an encouragement, and pushed his finger into the second knuckle. Buck whined high and needy like he had the first time George had touched him there, and his thighs started to shake with the tension of holding himself up. "George, please, God," he muttered, sounding utterly unlike himself.

Buck stopped being able to form words entirely when George swallowed him down again at the same time as he pushed his finger all the way in and started to twist it. He had to ride against Buck's thrusting hips as Buck couldn't decide if he wanted to be deeper in George's throat or have George's finger further up his ass. Every movement dragged another high, torn cry from his throat until his body went rigid and he collapsed back into the bed, twitching.

George finished swallowing and climbed up to sprawl across Buck's chest. He'd come enough times himself that he didn't do more than idly rub his cock against Buck's hip. He smirked up at Buck and said, "Told you you had another round in you."

"Is it even possible to wear you out?" Buck asked, batting the back of George's head.

"What can I say?" George asked. "I missed you."

"We were in the same company the whole time," Buck said, but he knew what George meant. This was better than anything they'd managed in Normandy, better even than anything they'd been doing before they'd jumped.

George toyed with Buck's dog tags, wrapping the chain around his finger then sliding it off so that the coil of warm metal sat perfectly in the hollow of Buck's throat, just below his Adam's apple. He wondered if he should ask Buck if he had any thoughts or opinions about what they were doing, if he maybe wanted to do something else, or if he had an end goal in mind. The joke about George paying a gambling debt had fallen away entirely some time after Carentan, leaving them void of any pretext save mutual comfort and enjoyable messing around. George couldn't say he objected to either, but couldn't always tell what was going on in Buck's head. Sometimes it seemed like he did mind.

Buck leaned down and kissed George's forehead in that hard, possessive way he had, and said, "Stop thinking so hard; you'll hurt your brain."

"Mmm." George let the dog tags be and ran his palm over the curves of Buck's perfect chest and down his ribs to rest on his hip. He patted lightly, as if punctuating words he hadn't spoken. He didn't need to ask Buck if he liked what they were doing. His body made that pretty clear, so what George did ask was, "Hey, Buck, would you like me to screw you some time?"

With his ear pressed to Buck's chest, George heard Buck simultaneously stop breathing and his heart rate pick up. His hand, which had been lightly resting on George's shoulder, tightened to a painful grip. Whatever Buck might have said got tangled in that held breath, and didn't make it out of his throat. "I—" he choked out, and then stopped.

The only thing George could do was keep talking like they were having a normal conversation that two normal men had, and there was no reasonable hang ups, and no one was going to get shoved out of bed or punched in the face. "You just seemed to like what I was doing a minute ago," he said reasonably. "So I was wondering if maybe you liked catching sometimes. If you don't, we can keep doing what we've been doing. No complaints from me!"

Seemingly with an effort, Buck let go of George's shoulder. His hand hovered above both of them for a moment, then he brought it up to scrub through his hair. "George," he said, and seemed to expect that single word would carry everything he wanted to say along with it. Problem was, it didn't.

George thought he understood, though. He could tell from Buck's response to his wandering hands that Buck would very much like George to screw him. At the same time, a man's man like Buck Compton, centre guard for the UCLA Bruins, officer in the 101st Airborne, wasn't the kind of fellow who let another man fuck him up the ass. He'd been sliding by, until George's question had caused his body's need and how he needed to see himself to slam into each other like two trains going full steam ahead from opposite ends of the same track.

That George was a slut wasn't knowledge that more than occasionally troubled him. If something felt good, he didn't see the harm in doing it, but other fellows seemed to get all tangled up in this kind of thing. It had always struck George as a shame that men like Buck couldn't just let go and do what they wanted. In that moment of lying together naked in the warm attic that smelled of mothballs and lavender soap and come, after surviving thirty nine-days of combat, that Buck wanted to be fucked and wouldn't let it happen struck George as the greatest injustice of the whole war. Not only that, but it was clearly the sort of injustice that God had put a man like George on Earth to solve.

He rolled back enough to prop his head up on his arm and look down at Buck seriously. Buck had flushed crimson and turned his head away. He clearly knew that George knew what he wanted, and felt a depth of shame that he couldn't begin to put into words. George drew Buck's attention back by making little twisted tufts of his sweaty chest hair. In the filtered sunlight making its way through the curtains, Buck's pale hair picked up a golden shine that George liked the look of against his pink skin. He liked the look of just about every part of Buck, though he had to admit that his current burst of altruism was tainted by especially liking the look of Buck's ass.

Buck saw him looking and muttered, "How about you just leave it alone, huh?"

It was a possibility. George offered another. "What if you didn't have a choice?"

Buck snorted. "What, like you knock me out and have your wicked way with me? Not sure I'd enjoy the headache. It's not like you could overpower me."

George wobbled his head from side to side acknowledging that anything resembling wrestling with Buck would end with George ground into a smear on the floor. "I could tie you up," George suggested.

Getting laughed at by your lover turned out to feel a lot better than your lover refusing to speak to you. "What, like when I'm sleeping?" Buck asked, incredulously.

"You'd probably have to let me tie you up," George admitted, but maybe that would be enough. Sometimes all it took to undo a Gordian knot was pulling out the cart tine to loosen things up a little—a slightly different way of seeing the situation.

Buck shook his head and looked away again. He was still flushed so deeply that George could feel the heat coming off his skin.

"Come on," George wheedled, "It'll be fun. I'll stop if you don't like it." There was weight behind those words, weight that came from Buck having just spent the afternoon getting off, and both of them knowing that George had never asked anything from Buck other than to bring him pleasure.

"Sure, all right, fine." Buck threw his arm over his eyes so that he didn't have to look at George smiling in victory. "If that's what you want. But not today, okay?"

Maybe that was what sliced through the knot, in the end: Buck was the kind of guy who would spend even his own body for the sake of a friend, and if George made it clear that he wanted this from him, then Buck would make the sacrifice.

It was just up to George to make sure that Buck didn't end up feeling like he'd given much up.

"Well, I need to find the rope," George agreed, amiable now that he'd gotten his way. "Meanwhile..." George reached down and Buck groaned in disbelief.

"I swear, I don't..." Buck started, but his dick was already stiffening in George's hand.

* * *

George had half expected that Buck would put off their next hookup for a few days, if not until training recommenced and Captain Winters ran them all too ragged to do anything except fall asleep in a pile like puppies. However, the next afternoon Buck caught his eye outside the mess hall and held his gaze for a moment before lifting his chin slightly. Aside from tearing his clothes off in the middle of the street and yelling "Take me now!" George didn't think he'd seen a less ambiguous pick up.

Being a man ready for most if not all contingencies, George had already secured a couple coils of supple braided rope from supply. He brought it and some of the nicer lube the prokits had to offer along to Buck's billet only twenty minutes later. As he was on the way in, the old couple that owned the house were on their way out, arm in arm as always. One of them looked at him, looked at the coils of rope he'd not terribly successfully tucked behind his back, and fucking _winked_ at him.

George saluted her like she was Eisenhower.

He was still blushing by the time he got to the top of the stairs leading to Buck's attic room.

Buck was in his shirt sleeves with his buttons undone in a recollection of the first time George had tried this. Of course, if he'd come forward with this exact proposal then, he'd have been tossed out on his ear and maybe brought up on charges. It was how you went about things that was the key. Especially key right now, when Buck was sitting on the edge of the bed staring at George with an expression of deep uncertainty. His eyes flicked to the rope and then to George's face, and his jaw tightened. He was a heartbeat away from shaking his head and dodging out of the whole thing.

George dropped the rope and crossed to drop to his knees in front of Buck. Instead of bending to undo his fly like he usually did, he pulled Buck down into a kiss. He'd been drinking coffee, unspiked, and George was glad that Buck hadn't decided that he needed to be drunk for this. He kept the kiss going until Buck relaxed enough to start running his hands up and down George's back and his mouth softened against George's as George moaned in appreciation.

When George broke away, Buck looked a little less spooked. George wanted to promise that it was just him, and when had he ever hurt Buck, but he knew if he treated any of this as anything less than normal that would just make everything worse. Instead of saying anything, George started on Buck's remaining shirt buttons. He wasn't wearing an undershirt, and George pushed the shirt open as he went, running his palms over Buck's chest. He never could seem to get enough of touching this man. From the way Buck shivered under George's hands and leaned into his touch, he couldn't get enough of it either. He had the shirt off in a moment's work and started on Buck's belt after. That seemed to remind Buck what they were about to do, because his hands left George's back to white-knuckle the edge of the mattress. George suppressed a sigh and kept going. This wasn't going to work if Buck still had his pants on, that was for sure.

"Just lie on the bed and let me do everything," George said when he had Buck stripped down. He'd tossed aside his own jacket and tie somewhere in the middle there, but was still otherwise dressed. Buck was looking at him dubiously again, so George took off his shirt and boots too. The room was warm enough that it mostly felt like a relief. George shoved at Buck's shoulder, and Buck shook his head slightly and lay on his stomach on the bed.

It was too narrow for two, really, no matter how much time they'd spent curled up on it, especially when one of them was the size of Buck. What the bed did have was a sturdy wooden frame that George had a reasonable amount of faith they wouldn't be able to reduce to splinters in what was to follow.

George went and got the rope. Buck scowled at it, like he was doing all of this under protest, even though he hadn't said a word against it. It would be just like him to sulk all the way to getting what he wanted.

"Relax," George said, "This'll be fun, you might even learn a thing or two. Just watch me."

"Pretty sure there's only so many ways this can go," Buck said glumly, resigned to the process but not entirely to being a good sport about it. Though, now that, George saw the way he slumped into the pillows, maybe the implied protest was what he needed to do to get his head around what was about to happen. He didn't want George to fuck him, but George wanted to, and Buck was going to do his best to oblige.

Fine, George could work with that. "I'll have you know that you're in the presence of a master. I've got more than one trick I learned from a pair of Marines on a _very_ late night in New Jersey. Prepare to be impressed."

Buck's eyes smiled at that, even if his lips stayed fixed in a thin line. That lasted until George set his feet on the plank floor and hauled on the side of the bed, Buck still on it, away from the window. Buck laughed at George's straining effort, and George ignored him until he had the bed a few feet away from the wall. It set the bed up in the centre of the room like an altar, which wasn't too far away from what George was going for. More importantly, he could circle around to the other side and take Buck's right wrist and tie the end of the rope around it in a sturdy loop.

Working deftly, George started securing Buck's arm to the bed. "I really did learn this from a Marine," he said by way of distracting Buck, "Though I guess you could say he didn't exactly pick it up in the line of duty. Not, strictly speaking, nautical, if you know what I mean."

George hadn't practised much recently, but it turned out to be much like falling off a bicycle. George tied Buck's hand to the headboard, then doubled back to his wrist, and looped the rope around the side of the bed frame to hold the wrist steady from two angles. From the bed frame, he went back up to Buck's forearm and tied a neat row of knots to travel the rope past his elbow before looping back around the side of the bed frame. A double tie there, another series of knots up Buck's biceps, a loop around Buck's upper arm, and George was ready to travel across Buck's back and do it all again on the other side.

Buck lay there patiently for a little while, then started to fidget. "This is complicated," he complained when George got down to his left wrist and tied off.

"Sure," George agreed easily, "but try to move your arms."

While Buck was working out that he was held perfectly in place, unable to do more than flex his arms, and equally unable to do more than raise his head against the loops across his back, George started again with the second coil and Buck's ankles. Buck's protest really was for show. He didn't even stiffen his legs when George pushed them apart so that his calves lay parallel to the edges of the mattress. He tied Buck's calves in place with loops around them and the bed frame, then started a row of knots up Buck's powerful thighs, first one then the other, with the junction over the small of his back. George would have tied the second rope into the first at Buck's shoulders, but he was by then out of rope.

George stepped back, and for a moment his vision blurred as the beauty of what he was seeing overtook him. He'd completely pinned Buck to the bed, his arms and legs as spread-eagled as they could get on such a narrow mattress. His fair skin was criss-crossed with the white lines of the rope, like a lattice-top pie, or long white fingers holding him down. Only his back was clear, his position showing off how his powerful shoulders tapered down to a lean waist, framed by lines of rope on either end. George wanted to run his nails down it to raise some marks, just so that it wasn't so god-damned perfect. The way George had spread Buck's legs pushed his ass up a little and exposed his hole and balls to the room. Buck was breathing rapidly, making his butt rise and fall, and George was having a hell of time looking at that and thinking straight at the same time.

He couldn't see Buck's face. He'd pressed his head into the pillow, and wasn't looking at George or talking to him. Bending to get a better look, George saw that Buck's dick was rock hard.

George was still in his pants and socks, so he stripped down, his skivvies dragging on his cock. He had to pinch the base to keep from coming just at the sight of Buck stretched out in front of him. He should’ve jerked off before he'd showed up. This was going to take time to do right, and George didn't have a lot of faith in his self-control to last him through.

"Get it together," George muttered, hopefully too softly for Buck to hear. If George fucked this up, he was going to do all kinds of damage to someone who'd gone from a convenient source of orgasms to a friend. "Hey," he said and put his hand on the back of Buck's knee.

Buck flinched, tried to pull away, and finally seemed to understand how trapped he was. His arms yanked at the ropes, movements convulsive and frantic, but George hadn't built any give at all into them, and the bed frame held. As much as George would’ve liked to watch Buck struggle until he'd burned the image of those muscles straining against his knots like his mind was a daguerrotype, he needed to get moving. Buck was pulling in sharp, panting breaths, and hissed in alarm when George ran his hand up Buck's thigh, over his hip to spread wide at the small of his back.

"Doing all right there?" George asked lightly.

"Yeah, I,"—Buck held his breath for a moment, then took two long, slow inhalations and lifted his head—"I'm fine. It's fine."

George trailed his fingertips up Buck's spine. He wouldn't remind Buck that he could stop if he didn't like it, or imply that he wasn't strong enough to take whatever George was dishing out. Somehow, this had turned into Buck needing to prove that he wasn't a sissy by agreeing to take it up the ass. George would have laughed at the irony of that, if it wouldn't ruin the whole thing. Instead, he ran his fingers backwards up Buck's crew cut, the short hairs tickling his palms, and Buck huffed out a sigh. He didn't relax, but that would come later.

"You're like a god-damned work of art done up like this," George commented as he ran his hands over the ropes binding Buck's arms. "Somebody should frame you and stick you up on a wall some place."

"Thought that's what you just did," Buck answered, and George realised that talking helped. How fortunate.

He ran his nails down Buck's back, one hand on either side of his spine to raise eight parallel pink lines, and cupped Buck's ass with his palms. "I don't know if you've heard, but I happen to be Easy Company's expert when it comes to posteriors."

"Welshie said something about it." Buck's face was still pressed into the pillow, blurring his words, but his breathing had eased.

George sniffed in pretended disdain. "Lieutenant Welsh's ass is insignificant. You know, sir, that I'd never speak disrespectfully of my commanding officer, but really, he's shamefully lacking in form in that regard."

Buck snickered, and tugged lightly at the bonds like he wanted to gesture and had forgotten he couldn't. "Do I want to know how you know that?"

"You do not," George proclaimed. He kneaded his fingers into the flesh of Buck's ass, and Buck shuddered. "Your ass, Lieutenant, is one of the finest I've ever had the pleasure to behold." Thumbs digging in, he followed the lines of muscle down to the tops of Buck's thighs, stopping when he hit the top line of rope. The movement spread Buck's cheeks wider, but Buck didn't even seem to notice. George rustled through his memory and landed on a snatch of a radio play that he'd liked the sound of. He extemporised and adapted it on the fly, dropping his voice to imitate the timbre and plummy accent of the lead actor, "What a piece of work is an ass! How noble its reason, how infinite in facility! In form and moving how express and admirable! In action how like an angel, in application how like a god! The beauty of the world. The paragon of asses."

Now Buck was muffling his laughter against the pillow, shoulders shaking with mirth and not apprehension, and George grinned down at him, satisfied.

"I can't believe you're quoting Shakespeare," Buck said, still gasping.

George shrugged. "There's a lot of jokes about butts in Hamlet, especially if you know how to listen for them. Now, would you like to hear my impression of Colonel Sink?"

If Buck could have, George knew he would have wiped the pillow out from under his face and walloped George one with it. As it was he was reduced to yanking on the ropes again and claiming loudly that the last thing he wanted to hear in this position was his regimental commander.

Eyeing the situation with a professional eye, George hopped off the bed to fetch an overstuffed cushion from the desk chair, which he jammed under Buck's abdomen to make his position more comfortable and his butt a little easier to reach.

Buck didn't even make a motion at protesting, just lay still as George arranged him then patted his ass appreciatively. He hardly seemed to notice when George's hands left his skin to get the tube of slick. He did notice when George's lubed fingers traced from his tail bone down to his hole. Buck grunted like he was in pain, and tensed up again.

"Easy there," George murmured soothingly, but he thought it was more his finger circling Buck's hole that made his grunt change to a moan. Even before George entered him, Buck’s hips had started to rock in anticipation. Not that George had left Buck with much movement past wiggling a little, but Buck wiggling his ass as George circled his fingertip inside his asshole made what he wanted pretty clear.

Out of curiosity, he reached under Buck with his other hand and got a good grip on his dick, but Buck immediately gasped out, "Georgie, no: it's too much!" before he could remember that he was supposed to be stoic and take whatever George dished out. George let go, and took hold of the blade of Buck's hip instead.

"Don't want to rush a good thing, huh?" George asked, but only got a moan in reply as he pushed his finger in to the first knuckle. For all Buck's protests, George slid in easily, and the clenching heat around his finger only made him think about what it was going to feel like when he got his cock up in there. "No rush," he said again, but this time as more of a reminder to himself. "We've got all day." He slid his finger in further and searched around until Buck jerked under him and keened into the pillow. "Oh, there we are. Hey, Buck, I found the magic button."

Buck was too busy writhing under George's touch to answer. Buck tried to bring his legs up so that he could crouch under George's touch, pressing his ass onto the finger inside him, but he couldn't move against the rope. His muscles bulged and strained, and his ass kept flexing around George's finger in a way that made George's mouth dry and his head a little giddy. He slid a second finger into Buck, and Buck buried his face in the pillow to smother his groan. Buck still felt embarrassed for how much he wanted this; he was still thinking.

George thought he had a cure for that. As he spread and curled his fingers and playfully thrust them in and out of Buck's ass, he reached up with his other hand and grabbed the back of Buck's neck hard, squeezing down and holding his face against the pillow. Buck reacted before he'd had a chance to think, slumping forward under George's hold and sighing.

"That's right, just let Georgie look after you," George told him. "You're doing so good. You're so god-dammed gorgeous. You have no idea."

Buck shook his head, but his words were too muffled to hear, so George ignored them, focusing on melting every idiotic thought out of that pretty head. He could make Buck come with just George's fingers up his ass. Buck had to be close from the way his thighs had started to shake with tension and his stomach pulled in, like his body was drawing up in the moment before a sneeze. George reached under Buck and squeezed his balls sharply enough to get a hiss of pain and a release of tension.

"No way you're coming before I'm inside you," he said with feeling, and let Buck take that how he would.

"Jesus Christ," Buck muttered, then something more profane when George informed him that Jesus would have to wait his turn, and no one was taking that angelic ass before George had first dibs.

George could have added a third finger and drawn things out even more. Someday, he wanted to find how much Buck could take before he broke down and begged. Today, George was in a hurry, and only took the time to thrust so much lube into Buck's ass that it started to trickle out and down to his balls, and then slick himself up too. "Keep it together," he told himself.

"I'm trying," Buck muttered through gritted teeth. "Hurry up, and get it over with already."

It was close enough to begging as George was going to get this time around. He let his hands linger as he ran them up Buck's legs from his ankles to his hips, testing as he went to make sure that each knot was both sound and not digging into Buck's flesh. When he got hold of Buck's hips, he shuffled forward on his knees until the tip of his dick touched Buck's hole.

Buck gasped and went still again, like he hadn't connected that this was what came next. George thought he might tear at the bonds like he had the first time, but except for his breathing he could have been carved from marble.

George took a deep breath and slowly eased his hips forward. He'd expected Buck to tense and try to push him out, but he just lay there. The sulky passivity would have been maddening if the heat and pressure around George's cock didn't feel so damn good. He had to squeeze his eyes shut as he rocked forward because the image of Buck tied to the bed, spread open under him, on top of everything else, would have made it a real short ride.

"Holy Christ, you feel good," George said, almost to himself. It'd been a long time since he'd done this with anyone, but something about the physical perfection of the man under him, and the knowledge that he was swinging on the barest thread of trust to get to do this at all, made it almost feel like George's first time too. There was that rush of anticipation mixed with fear that heightened every sense. George was no longer afraid that Buck would hurt him—he'd never do it even if he weren't immobilised—but the closeness that had almost grown to trust made an opposing fear raise its head. If George were a cruel man, or even a careless one, he could use this to break Buck in a way that might never be repaired. That was a lot to put on a radioman from a mill town who mostly just wanted to play the company clown.

Buck stayed still as George pushed into him, going a little deeper with each thrust. George could see the tension in his arms and how he'd wrapped his hands around the ropes leading to the headboard and squeezed until he had no blood left in his fingers. The sharpness in his breathing and the way he kept his face turned away from George said more than a man like Buck ever would in words. When George started to take longer thrusts, Buck slumped forward and whined against the pillow. He was trying to force his body to resign itself to what was happening to him, but George didn't think he could. Buck was nearly, but not quite, overwhelmed by everything that was happening: the steady hold of the ropes on his limbs, and the tighter grip of George's hands on his hips, the warmth of the room and the way the sounds of their bodies filled it, and most of all that he was letting George fuck him, and that even the idea of that made him hard.

"Come on, you can do this," George said, and he really had no idea who he was talking to now. He reached for Buck's cock and started to stroke it in time with the movement of his hips. His hand was still slick with lube and travelled easily over Buck's shaft.

"Please," Buck moaned, "Oh, God," and then an unintelligible jumble buried in the pillow, except for a final, "Please!"

Sweat was running down George's body and dripping from his hair onto Buck's back, and his skin sizzled with pleasure that had nothing to do with heat. His hand on Buck's cock made Buck try to thrust forward to get more contact, which again ran into the ropes on his legs. His muscles strained and his ass clenched around George's dick, and it was too much.

George had meant to hold on until Buck came, but he didn't have it in him. His whole body seemed to plummet away from him as his hips slammed forward one last time and his vision faded out. He might have stopped breathing. He was pretty sure he'd died, and the surprising part in all that was that he'd somehow landed in heaven.

Distantly, he heard Buck cry out, and that pulled George back to himself. His hand was covered in come, and he must have rung that orgasm out of Buck the same time as he'd spent inside him.

"Jesus H. Christ," George muttered. Buck said nothing. He lay as if poured onto the mattress. His head was turned to one side, so George could see his profile: mouth open, eyes closed. They were both still breathing, so that was a start. George stroked Buck's back, his fingers tracing the lines he'd scratched earlier. He didn't want to disturb whatever moment of quiet Buck had found, but he did want to know that he hadn't completely screwed this whole thing up. "You alive down there?"

"Barely," Buck admitted.

"You all right?"

"Yeah."

Monosyllabic answers had never been one of George's turn ons. He ruffled Buck's hair again, hand sliding through the perspiration dripping off it. Sweat had pooled in the divot between Buck's shoulders, and George wanted to lick it off, so he did. Leaning that far forward pulled his dick half way out of Buck's ass. George rose on his knees, pulling the rest of the way out and stretching his arms above his head.

"Talk about rode hard and put away wet," he said. "Hold on a minute, I'll clean us up."

There was just a pitcher of water and some wash clothes, which George hated to ruin, but he wasn't walking naked down to the latrine on the ground floor, either, so he did the best he could with himself, then poured cool water on the second cloth and went back to Buck's side.

George hoped the lassitude was just Buck floating on the buzz that followed a good fuck (giving or taking), and not some kind of mixture of depression and regret. He wiped down Buck's neck first, then moved the cool damp cloth across his shoulders and back. George's come was leaking out of Buck's ass, dripping over his balls and onto the bedspread below to mix with Buck's. They had possibly not thought that part out, but George was willing to leave that part of the clean up to Buck. It was his billet.

"You don't have to..." Buck started to say as George cleaned his ass, then fell silent again when he realised there was no stopping George.

"Sure I do, you're all tied up," George answered. He dumped the cloth back in the wash basin and knelt next to the bed to pick away at the knots on his legs. Why the hell had he tied so many of them? "I was never in the boy scouts," he admitted part way down Buck's thigh.

Buck snorted. "Lucky them," he grumbled, but he was surprisingly patient as George slowly finished unwinding his legs, coiling the rope as he went.

"Was in the sea cadets though," he added.

"Why didn't you join the navy?"

"Never liked boats, just sailors."

"And Marines?"

"Sure. And officers in the Parachute Infantry."

By then, George had Buck's right hand free, and Buck immediately caught George's wrist and squeezed until George looked him in the eye.

"Lucky me," Buck said. It ought to have been far too sincere for George's taste.

He'd never gone in for that mushy nonsense Perco liked, but that was Buck: the man who came through when you were in a pinch and surprised you every time. George felt his throat tighten with an emotion he couldn't describe, and this time he was the one who had to look away.

Buck didn't say anything else, didn't even try to pick his other hand free, just rolled back on the bed and shoved the cushion off to make room for George to curl up against his chest. George made the smallest ball out of himself that he knew how and pressed his nose against Buck's throat. Buck rubbed up and down George's back and kissed his hair, and didn't say anything about how either of them was a sissy.

"Sorry," George muttered, not sure what had gotten into him. Maybe it was just that he'd managed to go an hour without thinking of fucking Tipper, or the others, maybe it was that Buck trusted him, and, some days, George was pretty sure they were both going to hell for it. Maybe it'd just been a long god-damned day on top of a long god-damned month. Whatever it was, George let Buck curl protectively around him, closed his eyes and lay there soaking in Buck's touch and doing his best to ignore the wet spot under his hip.

The thing he liked about Buck, he decided—other than he was six feet of handsomeness with a smile to die for and an unparalleled willingness to let George do filthy things to him—was that sometimes he could be quietly kind like this.

"We're both the lucky ones," George said, and he hadn't meant it to sound as morose as it came out, but Buck did him the favour of ignoring the implication.

"Hell, I've seen you play dice. Lucky you are not." Buck's laugh was a little forced, but when George pulled his head away to look at his face, his smile was real.

George smiled back. "How do you know I didn't mean to lose, Lieutenant? I'd say I got my money's worth."


End file.
